


The Violin

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Meh, just an idea, nothing special
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tells John the story of how he acquires his violin. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Violin

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I wrote this with the plan of it being fluff but it turned out to be 'Sherlock soliloquises in an out of character fashion'. Clear to see I am not pleased with it, but I have posted it reasoning that you may be. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. R&R.

Sherlock is not what John would refer to as materialistic. He is not attached to many things, only really getting upset if John or Mrs. Hudson moved the skull that resides on the mantel (though John has reason to believe this was only because Sherlock did not want to be seen talking to himself) or his violin.

Anything else he could replace or do without. Missing phone or laptop? Use John's. Coat at the cleaners? Send John wherever he was going to go. And John privately thought that Sherlock's coat seemed to be at the cleaners a lot these days.

But if anyone moved Sherlock's violin without his knowing there would be many an hour of sulking for John to contend with. As well as a few strategically placed eyeballs around the flat. After John found one rolled up in a pair of his socks one day he always made sure to notify his flat mate of the violin's whereabouts.

John would have been able to understand this, if it were exclusively that Sherlock did not want others toughing his violin, but he seemed quite happy for John or Mrs. Hudson to move it with him in the room. It wasn't about it getting damaged either, as it had many a chip and Sherlock positively threw the thing around.

One stormy afternoon, when there were no new cases and Sherlock had pronounced the cold cases sent to them by Greg 'dull', John was sitting on the sofa watching the rain and drinking tea. Meanwhile, Sherlock was in the kitchen conducting some sort of experiment using a stomach and testing how the digestive capabilities of the organ deteriorated after death.

No one was rushing anywhere so John, looking over to the kitchen, ventured "Sherlock? What did you mean last Wednesday when you asked if anyone had come to take a violin census?

"Hmmm?"

"You tore in, asked if someone had some to complete a violin census before rushing off muttering about a three legged stoat and size nine converse."

"Yes."

"Well, I want to know why" pushed John.

"The case I was working on showed signs of the involvement of a Suricata suricatta with a missing front left leg but it turns out those are hard to come by-"

"No, Sherlock. The violin. I want to know about the violin," cut in an exasperated John "and what the hell is a Suricata suricatta?"

"Meerkat. And the owner's son wants the violin back" the dark haired man stated simply, returning to the stomach.

"Yeah. That doesn't help much Sherlock. Care to elaborate?"

"The man had a son. And then he died."

"Sherlock." John said sharply. He swore his flat mate was being intentionally vague and irritating.

Sherlock signed, pushing back from the table, resigned to his experiment, which required concentration, being ignored until John was satisfied with the answer he was looking for.

The taller man stood, stretching, going to make a cup of tea.

"It was about ten years ago, a few years before setting up as a consulting detective. I was still doing private work. I was helping an old man who lived alone and had no money, but had a fascinating case concerning a topaz tiara and a snake. You know I'm not concerned with monetary exchange, so I required no payment from the man, and told him so. We went our ways and I heard nothing more except to see in the newspaper a few months later that he had died due to an arachnid bite.

It was a few weeks after that, that I received a letter to make an appointment to see this man's lawyer. I did so and was told that the man had left me his violin" Sherlock stated, indicating the instrument, perched on top of a coffee mug.

It turned out that the man had wanted to thank me and knew a friend of mother's, who told him that I used to play. He had loved this violin. It was originally to be given to his only son. The lawyer told me it was old, but he was not sure how old or where it came from.

I did some experiments and took it to a verifier, who confirmed my suspicion that it is one of the 600 Stradivarius violins left in existence today."

"And they're...good?" questioned John. Violins were not his area of expertise.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "One recently sold at auction for almost ten million pounds. So, yes. Quite good."

"Jesus" John breathed. He looked over to the violin, quickly taking it off the coffee mug and shutting it in its case. Sherlock really did have no concept of money.

"So now, it would seem the son wants it, feeling he has true ownership over it. He is rather..." Sherlock paused "keen to see it returned to him."

John sat back, wondering why he put up with this man and his surreal life.

Sherlock interrupted this train of thought with a slight cough, sitting forwards.

"John?"

"Hmmm?"

"...Can I get back to my stomachs now?"


End file.
